Choices We Make
by patsan
Summary: "It was like nothing had happened. His smiles, his words, the way he looked at her. There was no bitterness in his tone, no accusation in his eyes, only a fond affection, a kind interest, and it was tearing her apart." 2x01 AU ficlet.


I was aswering to a question the lovely **Lala-kate** submitted to the MM goodbye meme I created over at Tumblr (feel free to check it out, there are some awesome aswers I'm sure you'll love!), and this scene kind of took hold of my imagination, and you know how it is, sometimes you just have to sit and get the idea out of your head.

So this ficlet takes the first part of that question, and imagines a situation in which that could happen. It's set in 2x01, the night Matthew comes back to Downton for the first time in two years with Lavinia at his side, and it's clearly a "what if?" kind of story.

Thanks to **AnniellaEyes** for the polish and the title suggestion. My mind soundtrack has been "Yellow", by Coldplay.

Enjoy!

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**Choices We Make**

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It was like nothing had happened.

His smiles, his words, the way he looked at her.

There was no bitterness in his tone, no accusation in his eyes, only a fond affection, a kind interest. She'd been relieved, of course, because she'd been so worried he'd hate her for how she'd taken away his dreams so long ago, but it tore her apart too, for she loved him still, so completely, and for some time she'd hoped that there could still be a chance for them, that he wouldn't forget and that they could start over, somehow.

She'd been wrong, and what was there to remember after all? Her cutting remarks? Or her snobbish dismissal of him? Her uncertainty about how she felt? No, there was nothing to remember, and he did look well now, better, at peace with himself and with life in a way she'd never seen him before. He seemed happy, even amidst the danger of this blasted war, and she was glad he was, but it still hurt so very much that she wasn't the one making him so, that he'd chosen another, and when he'd look over at his fiancée sitting by his mother on the other side of the drawing room earlier tonight, when he'd smiled at _her_, tenderness and love colouring his face... Mary suddenly couldn't face it anymore.

She'd needed some air, and she'd walked away, slowly, unnoticed, aside from Carson who'd smiled sadly down at her as she passed him on her way out of the room and then out of the house. The parlor hadn't been enough, and so she'd walked all the way up here, under the old cedar tree, to the bench that still was her favourite place to read, but she couldn't sit down, she couldn't stand still.

She couldn't stop moving back and forth in fact, as memories of the evening assaulted her, and then older, sweeter ones that'd tortured her for months and months, and that made her shudder now here in the dark, far enough from the house that no one would see her, and yet close enough not to feel completely and desperately alone.

She took a trembling breath, a hand resting over her chest as she tried to get a hold of herself, but her heart kept beating madly against her ribcage, and the tears that she'd kept at bay till this very moment began flowing freely, as her face crumpled, and she covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a sob.

It was no use though. Her shoulders started trembling uncontrollably, her breathing became shallow, and big, ugly sobs began shaking her body, and she cried, hard and long, wretched with sorrow and crushed with regret for how she'd fallen, so many times and in so many different ways.

She'd fallen in love, and it'd been sweet and surprising, but scary, and finally so very beautiful. And she'd fallen from grace, and she'd been so disappointed, and had hated herself for it.

She'd fallen tonight trying to stand her own ground and not to let it all get to her, and look how well it'd gone! How ironic, that they said she had no heart, and yet it wouldn't stop hurting and burning, her heart.

Oh, but how was she supposed to face it all now, to face _him_, _them_?

And then, as her own thoughts had summoned him, she lifted her gaze and here he was, Matthew, standing in front of her, shock and worry equally showing on his face, as he came in closer, and said her name in a whisper.

Suddenly, it was too much, him, their past, her mistakes, her hopeless love.

She cracked, crying even harder, and without thinking about what she was doing she closed the short distance between them, hiding her face in the hollow of his neck, ignoring his startled intake of breath as her fingers grasped desperately at his red jacket, and she squeezed her eyes shut, seeking his closeness, his warmth, the shadow of a love she knew it simply wasn't there anymore.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled so close to his skin, her voice breaking. "So terribly, terribly sorry."

He paused for some moment, and then his arms came around her lightly. "What for?" he asked, confusion and concern so evident in his voice, and when she didn't answer he grabbed her gently by her arms and moved her back a little. "What's wrong? Mary?" he said looking in earnest down at her.

She wiped her tears from her cheeks, but they kept coming and coming, and they streamed down on her face, and she hated it, but she couldn't calm down with him standing so close to her, and not when she felt like in this very moment her own heart was breaking because this was the end, the end of her silly hope, of her most secret dream.

"Matthew..." she said, and stopped because she didn't know what there was to say, if not that it was all her fault, and that she was paying a right price for it.

Matthew lifted a hand to her cheek then, brushing her tears away, a tender gesture that she didn't mistake for something it was not, because she knew it couldn't be. It only made her weep more, and she looked down, convering her face with both her hands, how she'd done the very day he'd walked out of her life. Only this time Matthew didn't left her there, but he hugged her tenderly, drawing soothing circles on her back.

"What is it, Mary? Please... tell me, I only want to help," he said serious against her hair. His tone was caring, his warmth comforting, and something inside Mary settled. She pressed against him, relishing his closeness for a moment more, as she finally quietened, her tears slowly subsiding.

"I was such a fool," she murmured after a while, leaning back just enough, without stepping completely away from his embrace, but he let go, and she sighed. "I thought I would find a way," she said, "or that I'd learn how to be brave, and tell you everything, but I didn't."

He looked confused for a moment, and then his brow furrowed. "You're talking about my-"

"I'm talking about your proposal and my folly, yes," she said looking up at him. She tried a small smile, but she wasn't quite sure she'd managed it. He glanced down, but lifted his eyes to meet hers when she started talking again. "I should've said yes right away," she continued, "but there was a... a secret I was keeping from you, and I couldn't accept you without revealing it first."

He swallowed, pausing a beat before asking, "are you revealing it now?"

"No. It doesn't matter now." He was about to say something, but she preceded him. "No, it does not matter anymore, Matthew. It does not matter how I feel, or... what I want."

She looked away, and they stayed silent for some moment, and when their eyes met again she could see, she _felt_ his sorrow, his confusion, and... there was something else she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever it was, it was gone when he looked over at the big house behind her.

"I should head back inside," he said slowly.

"Of course. I'll be back in time to see you and your mother home. And Lavinia."

"Thank you." He turned to leave, but stopped. "Mary... I'm- I'm sorry."

She smiled a little this time, even though she knew it was sad, only a shadow of the real thing. "I know, but it's not your fault."

Matthew didn't reply. He nodded and finally walked away.

Mary watched him go, and watched him enter the house, and imagined him walking up to where his fiancée was, still in the drawing room, standing by her in front of his whole family now. His future wife, the woman he'd chosen.

She sighed, and finally she sat down on her favourite bench.

She leaned back and looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath, as she realised that although she still felt crushed, the pain of losing him for good threatening to break her in pieces she didn't know she would be able to ever put back together, she also felt strangely peaceful, as if, somehow, the worst part of the storm was past, and the rain had calmed down, and it was only a matter of time till the sun came peeking from behind the dark clouds.

Maybe it really was past the worst part of this pain.

Maybe it really would go away, this sense of loss, this crushing heartache.

Maybe she _would_ be alright, eventually, given time, and given that he would come back from this war at last.

Maybe.

And so she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She pressed her palms together and she whispered words she hadn't pronounced since she was a little girl.

"Dear Lord..."

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_The original question was "What if Mary had actually said something to Matthew when he returned to Downton with Lavinia for the first time? What if, in a moment alone, she actually confessed her feelings for him?" and this was my way to imagine a scenario in which it could be plausible (I hope) for Mary to do so in 2x01. _

_I'm not sure how I feel about it, to be honest, if not maybe that it makes me a little sad. _

_I should also add that I'm not planning of writing more of this universe, as I'm already exploring the possible repercussions of a confession from Mary early in S2 in "I Carry Your Heart With Me". _

_Let me know what to think of it. You know I love to hear your thoughts :)_

_Till next time!_


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